


Scars

by rangerofdiscord



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, and also neck touches, carwash, carwash fluff, for red who requested weekly carwash fics, gooey shit to give u cavities, mentions of scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerofdiscord/pseuds/rangerofdiscord
Summary: Wash's scars tell a story, a story of beginnings and maybe even endings. Carolina traces those scars.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuckerfuckingdidit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuckerfuckingdidit/gifts).



The scars on Wash’s neck told a story.

In the early morning, with the soft light from the sunrise filtering through the blinds, the scars and patterns told a story. And sitting crossed legged on the bed, with her hair falling into her face because she was too lazy to brush it or put it up, Carolina traced that story. 

They started where his hair ended, deep brown fried blonde with grey hairs interwoven throughout. A mess of three different colors, all meeting at a point on his neck. Where the hair stopped growing, the scars started. They were small, but rough. The result of a tiny chip being forcefully pulled out with no care on how it would effect the owner of the neck. The result of months, maybe even years of torture. 

It was the story of Epsilon. The beginning of his story. He was gone now, like so many others in Carolina’s life. But pieces of him still remained. Like the small scars on Wash’s neck, the rough, pink and white scars.  
Her own rough fingers traced them ever so gently, lovingly caressing the damaged skin before playing with his hair. He was fast asleep, gone to the world, too tired to notice. She hoped that in his dreams he could feel her touch, maybe it would stop the bad dreams. It never worked for her, but maybe for him it might. 

Her fingers slowly worked their way down his spine. The story didn’t stop at just the rough scars, there was mroe there too. Strings of binary code, forever implanted in his skin like he had been struck by lightning. Lichtenberg scars, they were called. But Wash’s weren’t intricate patterns left over by electricity racing through his body. They were just simple numbers, ones and zeros repeated over and over in red trailing from the rough implant scar down his spine. It was Epsilon’s beginning, the story of how he was created. If she were to translate them, she imagined they would be saying one thing, or perhaps two. Allison. Tex. Texas. Beta. 

But neither she nor Wash had any interest in translating the code. That was in the past. They had to focus on the future. 

Her finger continued to trailed down his spine, reaching the slight dip around his waist. Rubbing it slowly, emphatically, her fingers went back to trailing his spine. This time going up. He was still asleep, head buried in his pillow. How he was able to breathe like that, she still couldn’t understand. 

The finger touched the binary scars again, and after a few seconds she was back at the implant scar, running fingers through his hair. Messing with it, almost. His hair was so pointy and funny to touch when it was shaved short, on his neck. She loved the sensation it made when she pushed it back and forth. 

Feeling a small smile growing on her lips, Carolina pulled her long, messy hair to one side before laying down besides Wash. He was faceplanted into the pillow, and if it weren’t for the fact that she could see his chest rising and falling she’d think he was dead. At least he could finally sleep without waking up constantly. 

Yawning, she curled up into his side. One hand went to the back of his neck again, alternating between soft touches on his scars, and messing with the short pokey hair on the back of his neck. 

Wash’s scars told a story. A story about a beginning, and perhaps even an ending, for many things. But his story wasn’t over, and neither was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> local writer does not know how to end a drabble.


End file.
